


Miss Redania

by SwagnessChace



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But war tears people apart, F/M, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Geralt Loves Jaskier, Geralt is the man who's going to save him, Happy Ending, Inspired by Miss Saigon, Jaskier is a brothel worker, M/M, Miss Saigon AU, Romance, Running away from Lettenhove, Slow Burn, Unhappy marriage, War time, Yen is his second choice, betrothal, finding love again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwagnessChace/pseuds/SwagnessChace
Summary: Miss Saigon AU!Julian has to flee from Lettenhove after the Nilfgaardians take Redania. He finds himself in a brothel at the edge of Novigrad. Geralt and the other wolves have to find work throughout the war, and their paths cross. Geralt can't help the man with the bright blue eyes and big dreams, but love makes us do crazy things. Geralt has to try and sneek his lover out of the city before the gates close, and face the secrets waiting for both of them if they ever make it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Kudos: 3





	Miss Redania

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I'm going to do a chapter for every song, plus more chapters in the end if I get carried away. Please comment your thoughts!

War was not something that a witcher trifles with. The Path is something to be taken seriously, as it spans the only passage of neutrality in the continent. There are those who chose to leave, deciding that intervening was a better cause then keeping overall safety. But war is a fickle thing. It fluxuates as different tides of different sides find new ways to over power the other. War is not something to be won, it’s something to endure. It is a constant in the continent that will never change. The sun might shine, lowering those tides, but when the moon is out it’s a free for all. And who are the witchers to decide who is right? They are a helping hand that branches from no form of civil society, and is outcasted. No matter the tolerance of inhumans, just like war, it is an indisputable fact that the witchers shall be shunned.  
  
This was the way of life and what it meant for a witcher- every witcher. The last anyone suspected could break was Vesemir. The old witcher was stable and steadfast in what it meant to be a witcher, but once winter broke, he had broached the subject with his last four pupils. Geralt had understood, having taken jobs for a Nilfgaardian General before. It was for a pack of drowners who had stopped a food supply. Geralt wouldn’t have taken it if it weren’t for the innocent people living within the fort. It had been a sight forced into harboring soldiers to no fault of their own. He wouldn’t help a flock of soldiers, but he would help those who didn’t have a choice- who had stayed on their own path.  
  
Coin had been sparse since the fall of Redania. Everything was taken out when the black army attacked, and every witcher had suffered for it. The old witcher had been approached by a General, who offered contracts for coin, and lots of it. He tried to explain that this wasn’t about taking sides, it was about survival for both them and innocents caught in the crosshairs. The job only consisted of monster hunting, but it still took time to convince the others that this was a smart thing to do. It was simply another employer hiring a witcher to solve a creature problem.  
  
Coen wasn’t on board, but when spring dawned, Eskel, Lambert and Geralt had set out to Novigrad to discuss terms and contracts. Everything they had witnessed on the way had been brutal. Scoia’Tael and men alike littered every ditch they crossed. Forests had been burnt away by bombs and camps lay devoid of life. That had been a year ago, and only the beginning for their new set of trials.  
  
Cahir, the Nilfgaardian General they had been under that been true to his word. Geralt and Eskel often took contracts on together, taking two at a time as to trick the man into thinking it was harder work than it was. Lambert, the spitfire often went off alone, and even decided to take up human contracts. While Eskel and Geralt hadn’t thought it right or just, they didn’t find it necessary to scold the man. It seemed that he was content, and neither wanted to take it from him. Many things are swept under the rug in war, and he had a lot to sweep. Despite the pleasure it was apparent the man took from these hard times, the trio often got together to try and ground themselves in life’s simple pleasures. The Rosemary and Thyme was a brothel near the southern gate in Novigrad, and was also their meeting place. Women in clad clothing adorned tables, the smell of sex being covered by the establishments name and the ale was good. Food was cheap, and despite being in Novigrad, not many gave them a second glance.  
  
Tonight was special as they were finally leaving Novigrad as a base of operations. The Pontar wasn’t a desirable destination, but it was a change in scenery. Luck was on their side, as it was known throughout the city that a large flock of soldiers were leaving. Not many frequented this brothel, but the host, Valdo Marx, had decided it was also time for celebration. New tapestries lined the dark hardwood walls and ale was flowing like a river.  
  
The three had a designated table in the back, where they had a means of escape and could see the entire room. The tables had been moved towards the side, as the there was a celebratory show that was to start. There was a quiet calm over their table that was interrupted by Lambert throwing himself into his chair. Arms crossed, he huffed as a child would. His back was to the floor, giving his two companions a full view of the uncertainty in his eyes. Eskel had given Geralt a knowing look before teasing out,  
  
“What is it this time, Lambert?” His gaze barely met his before looking away again. Despite the joy he received upon realizing he could get away from things, it dawned on the younger man that there was severe suffering.  
  
“Kiera asked me to help her leave tomorrow.” Their table became tense as it fell from the younger man in waves. Eskel and Lambert both had their eyes set on specific women every time they met. Eskel had Triss, a young, spry chestnut-haired woman who held a gentle laugh and soft hands. From what Eskel had gathered, she had been a worker there for quite some time, but only after the fall of Redania, taking this job as a necessity. Lambert had a short blonde named Kiera. Her sass and will were as strong has his, and in a different life, they’d make a great match. She was a veteran of the place despite her youth, but times were tough for everyone. It wasn’t uncommon for them to meet someone after a contract was set, but it usually led them to people trying to find an escort out of the city. No civilian was aloud to leave without an escort or a pass. Both were hard to come by, and they everyone seemed prepared to do what they must to find one. It was expected that someone from the Rosemary and Thyme to try and get an escort out of the witchers, but it had yet to happen until now. Geralt was well aware of the risks and where his heart lied, deciding never to use their services. Eskel had the same kind heart, and was surprised that he decided to bed Triss, despite that being her job. If she approached him on the subject, Geralt doubted he could deny her.  
  
But they couldn’t help. It would be a breach of the contract with Cahir, and would be too dangerous for everyone involved.  
  
Despite that, Geralt had readied himself, knowing he would help in anyway he could.  
  
“Well?” Lambert’s gaze once again flicked towards Geralt’s general direction before sinking a little further into his seat. The medium crowd that grew was light and fun, but they could hear their answer. There was muffled shouting that a normal man wouldn’t be able to distinguish from the noise on the main floor, but they were witchers. The words themselves were muffled, but the sound of a strike and the silence that followed confirmed he had told her no. Even worse, Marx had overheard her pleas. Eskel’s hand cupped his chin, his fingers brushing over his scar as he looked down at the table. Geralt’s hand tightened on his mug of ale, trying to focus on any other sound around him. It was tense until Triss had made her way over to their table, explaining what would happen with the show. She was sitting on Eskel’s lap, practically over the table to tell them all the news.  
  
“We’ll show off everyone, but there’s new meat. I don’t know what Valdo was thinking, but it will be interesting either way.” Lambert, shifting his mind to a new topic, leaned in closer.  
  
“How so? You’re puttering around a lot of info, dear Triss.” She smiled, her eyes dancing between him and Geralt. The White Wolf kept his gaze towards the performance and dance floor, but his ears were attentive.  
  
“It’s a boy. Oh, not like that, Lambert. He’s of age, but I don’t think there are many people here who would appreciate that service.” Geralt’s eyes slide closed, readying himself for what was to come. He was right to as Lambert gave a hearty yet harsh laugh.  
  
“How wrong you are dear Triss. Our Geralt here has been known to frequent ‘the pleasures of man’. Sorry ‘a man’.” The woman leaned back against Eskel, looking to the subject of his teasing.  
  
“Is that true?” Ever the gentleman, Geralt gives a response. It’s a miniscule, curt nod, but he knew Triss would catch it. It was true that he had bedded a number of men before, but it wasn’t something he stuck with. It was a more of a matter of willingness. More men were willing to sleep with an undesirable than a woman. While it doesn’t seem correct, it was how it was. Noble women would set aside their usual consorts to bed a witcher. It was about sex for them and nothing more. To have a wall of power and muscle give them pleasure was like receiving a glazed boar instead of the usual pheasant. For anyone lower in status, much was to be thought about. If they weren’t fearful, they were married. If they were neither, they were looking for love, or saving themselves for the one they’d marry. Geralt had to learn the hard way that the only type of peasant woman who would sleep with him were ones looking for more. Younger men, working a boring job looked for excitement, even if it was for one night. And who was Geralt to turn down a no-strings-attached, one-night stand?  
  
“Do you think you could snag the guy for him?” Geralt’s eyes snapped to the younger witcher, giving him his best glare. His foot connected with the man’s shin under the table, the pound loud enough where other patrons and workers alike spared them a glance. Triss’ brows shot to her hairline, eyes darting to the older witcher.  
  
“I could, if that’s what you would want-.”  
  
“No.” Geralt hadn’t meant to growl, but the reason he hadn’t partaken before had presented itself minutes ago with Lambert. As long there was a chance someone would ask him to help, he couldn’t bring himself to find pleasure with anyone within the city walls. Lambert huffed once more, leaning once again on the back of his chair.  
  
“Oh, come on. You need to get laid. I’m not going to travel with you being all grumpy just because you couldn’t take your head out of your ass. Or worse, I would have to deal with you sneaking off to jerk it in the woods. I’ll pay.”  
  
It was settled that he wasn’t interested, and compromised by letting the younger witcher at least pay for one last night in a bed to start off the journey on the right foot. Everything had settled itself back to how it once was, Kiera even coming back to take her place. Despite the tension that travelled with her, everything was fine. Simply fine, and that’s how Geralt preferred it. Eventually the ladies had left for the large performance for the night, and it was quite the show.  
  
Valdo Marx had the small band playing an upbeat tune as he weaved himself through the men at the tables. The usual women who worked there were all introduced, Marx pointing out certain women to specific customers. Each lady introduced themselves with a sexual tagline, that Lambert found hilarious. Sabrina, the house favorite, gave a grandiose opening, and danced along the table tops as she did so.  
  
“I could melt brass by the heat I bring. If you’re with me, I’ll take you first class, straight to what even the elves call heaven.” She gave a wink and her barefoot leg darted out to the man in front of her. The man gently grabbed it, trying to place a kiss on her ankle before she pulled away, and sauntering to the next person. By the time she was finished, Marx had made it to the wall next to Geralt. He hadn’t made any gestures or indications that tipped Geralt off to his positioning being intentional, but the smirk on Lambert’s face said it all.  
  
“How about something fresh from nobility? Untouched, hips un-parted, parts uncharted. Jaskier,” his hand flew to present a man standing on the stairs. He looked like he wanted the attention, but the audience was what bugged him. His bright blue eyes looked just over everyone’s head, never meeting a gaze, but seeming as though he was. His posture screamed confidence, but he was timid in coming any closer to the eyes following him. Geralt was surprised to find people hooting at him with encouragement, seeing as this, for as long as he knew, only had female workers. While this seemed to be a large step, Valdo was smart in picking the man. He was breathtaking. Geralt had half expected ‘Jaskier’ to be presented in a dress or a corset, but what he adorned was suiting. The shirt he wore would have been a simple undershirt if it weren’t see-through. The blue translucent fabric showed off the lean body and dark chest hair that one would assume is usually covered. It was tucked into simple black, tight trousers, and Geralt’s eyes couldn’t stray. He could feel his heartbeat faster when the tenor started to speak.  
  
“I’m eighteen and I’m new here today. The estate I come from seems… so far away. All of these girls here know much more what to say but,” he took a pause before taking a breath. His eyes seem to land on Geralt. At first, the witcher assumed he was looking to Marx, his employer, and someone who wasn’t scared to punish, but he knew. He knew Jaskier was looking to him. His voice came out louder and more confident. His shoulders seem to square, as he let out, “I’m so much more than you see. A million dreams are in me-.” The crowd let out a roar, and the man gave a sheepish smile in thanks. He quickly fell into the fold of bustling girls, trying to flaunt and dole out drinks, much to Geralt’s dismay.  
  
The witcher didn’t know what it was about the man, but something called to him. He let out a huff, as if it would expel the lump in his throat, and took a large drink of ale. Triss and Kiera had made their way back to the table, luring his brothers away one last time. He sat at the empty table, trying to clear his mind and tankard. One last drink, and he’d head to his room. The ladies knew them well enough for none to bother him, and for that he was grateful. Geralt’s eyes closed as he tipped the pint back with the intent to finish. When he placed it back onto the table, and opened his eyes, the man was sitting in the seat in front of him. Those blue eyes large and seeking. He was pushed in, so only everything above the top of his stomach was seen, and his hands rested on his own thighs. It gave the witcher a great view of the budding muscle there. The young man wasn’t the strongest, but for apparent nobility, he must have seen some work. Locks that seemed darker in the candlelight threatened to spill over his eyes, despite it seeming as though he just ran his fingers through it. Something that Geralt would happily do.  
  
But he wouldn’t. This was his last night, and he wasn’t going to be tied down by a pretty face and a fleeting feeling. And if this man was new here, a man is definitely not the company he was probably expecting to have. If he was told that Geralt would be his patron, he must be devastated. Despite Geralt not smelling fear on him now, it could happen. Men were fine with bedding a witcher- someone who fell from high graces due to war, finding refuged in a whore house as a last resort? Doubtful.  
  
The witcher sat up straighter, trying to find the words to politely tell him it was a misunderstanding before he heard that lovely tenor once more.  
  
“Valdo said you wanted to see me? I’m… flattered. I’m Jaskier.” The tankard of ale Geralt hadn’t noticed in front of the man was slowly pushed towards the witcher. He stared, simply blinking at the pint before his eyes found those blue infernos once more.  
  
“A misunderstanding. I leave tomorrow.” Jaskier left his arms above the table instead of where they were. Even bringing a hand up to rest his cheek on. The tilt of his head made Geralt’s heart skip, and he swallowed hard around the lump that formed once more. Jaskier truly was beautiful.  
  
“And what does tomorrow have to do with tonight?” There was a specific sass to his tone which had the witcher suppress a smirk. Oh the gall one would need to have an attitude with a witcher.  
  
“I don’t partake in anything other than food and ale.” Jaskier gave a hum, seeming confused. He looked to Geralt, before sparing a quick glance over his shoulder. Marx seemed to be watching, trying to play it off as just a glance in their general direction. Jaskier looked again to Geralt, nodding.  
  
“Well, the room was paid for. The problem is that you need to have a worker with you.” The witcher’s brow raised, as that had never been a rule before. The man noticed, giving a slight shrug. “I don’t make the rules, but I’m sure I could help. I…” He seemed hesitant to continue, almost bashful at his line of thought. Geralt waited quietly for him to continue, however. “I haven’t had time to practice my playing- lute playing, and if we both share the room, no questions would be asked.” It was Geralt’s turn to nod in understanding.  
  
If Geralt had the opportunity to sleep in a nice bed while looking at a pretty face, then why not? It seemed Jaskier wasn’t going to insist on anything promiscuous, and it the look of hopefulness he dawned was hard to refuse.  
  
“Fine.” Jaskier have a broad smile, his full cheeks moving to grace him with dimples previously hidden. He flicked his head to the side again before stopping himself. Geralt’s golden orbs tossed up to find Marx still spying. Jaskier, proving attentive, noticed, holding a hand out as he stood. Normally Geralt would refuse, but if this was where the man was going to have to stay for the foreseeing future, he complied. His leather clad glove fit snuggly into the equally large hand of Jaskier. He was led upstairs, to the third floor, and he had to suppress an eye roll. It was the largest room of the establishment, Lambert obviously using it as another jest. Jaskier asked him to wait just outside of the door before hurrying to the only other door of the floor. He reappeared with a glimmering lute.  
  
Music, ale, sleep and a pretty face? What a sendoff.


End file.
